


then you get the gold

by starsnatched



Series: iron tears (down pluto's cheek) [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Ambiguous Relationships, Character Study, Implied Sexual Content, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Jeno is a priest, M/M, Na Jaemin is a witch, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Relationship Study, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Slow Dancing, Witchcraft, Yeah I'm talking about Shotaro shhhh, just a little bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:47:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28953702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsnatched/pseuds/starsnatched
Summary: Jeno chuckles nervously, taking the apple. “Will it turn into a block of gold as I consume it? This is not poisoned, is it?”“I am a witch of nature, not one of alchemy,” Jaemin laughs. It’s as merry as the bell that tinkles on his hat. “Why would I envenom something that is supposed to nourish? Take a bite, and you will see.”
Relationships: Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin
Series: iron tears (down pluto's cheek) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2123679
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	then you get the gold

**Author's Note:**

> for once, this isn't horny— not completely, anyway. i love writing one shots, but i think i'm long overdue for a proper series. i hope you guys enjoy and stick around! <3

Jeno is standing among the pews, moonlight streaming through. He listens to the scraping of branches against the church windows before he hears the doors open. 

“Darling!” A familiar voice, filled with twisting poison ivy and blooming begonia, chimes throughout the empty chapel. Jeno continues to read his Bible, a verse that he cannot seem to grasp no matter how hard he tries. The voice cuts through again, dripping with poutiness. “You are ignoring me. Again.”

“You should leave, Jaemin," Jeno says, closing the holy book. A finger traces the cross etched onto the cover. _Lord forgive me, for what I am about to do._ “Stop coming. You do not even love God.”

“I am not here for your so-called savior,” Hands sneak up the preacher’s shoulders, slither across his arms. “Why must you play hard to get?”

“We are in a _church_ , Jaemin!” Jeno hisses, placing his Bible in the pew in front of him. He tries to pray for strength as he whirls around to face the witch, but the other man just shrugs. The pointed hat is weighed down with a bell that jingles at every movement Jaemin makes, and his soft pink hair helps to frame his face in an attempt to look innocent. “Have you no shame? Do you not fear the fires of hell—”

Jeno grabs onto the taller man in his anger, but his voice dies down when his hands meet soft chiffon and his eyes travel from the other’s infuriating face to what is under his palms. 

The preacher inhales sharply. 

“Oh, dear _God_ ,” Jeno mumbles out. He tries to sound disgusted, but all that spills from his mouth is awe. Jaemin looks fetching, his body hugged by a sheer black blouse. Roses and thorny vines are stitched into the fabric, but they don’t hide much; they don’t hide what usually needs to be hidden _at all_. The flowers encircle the witch’s neck like a collar; they stretch past to encircle his wrists like they’re supposed to be good substitutes for long sleeves. Jaemin’s trousers prettily hug his thin waist and long legs, tucking in the bottom part of the blouse. His simple, leather boots clomp softly against the stone floor. “Why are you… dressed so s-scandalously—?”

The trees outside never stop their scratching. Jaemin purrs, “Do you like it?”

Jeno is gaping, frozen. The younger doesn’t mind, takes one of the ravenett’s hands and pulls him along. The ravenett gasps, trying to tug back. “Wait… m-my Bible—”

“It will be there, like always,” Jaemin lilts, they walk through the pews and the pink-haired opens the doors with one hand. Huh. Was it magick or was he just that strong? Maybe a bit of both. The little bell on Jaemin’s hat sings happily. “Come along.”

“But the Bible should p-protect me.”

“From what? The trees? The wind?” A gentle breeze wooshes past their ears, and Jaemin giggles; nature can be playful sometimes. “No need to worry, my dear. I’m here.”

“Yes,” Jeno gulps. He has no idea why he indulges the other man so much, lets the younger lead him into the forest. “Yes, of course, I have nothing to fear. I have one of the devil’s children to protect me, after all.”

“How many times must I tell you that I worship no one?” Jaemin laughs. The trees shake their leaves in greeting as they walk farther away from the small church, into the woodland that surrounds it. The moonlight casts a silver glow as they stop in a meadow, surrounded by yet more trees. “No gods, no fiends. I love the earth, and nothing more.”

“Are you implying your curse was not bestowed upon you by the devil?”

“Maybe a god gave me this gift,” Jaemin reaches out a hand, and a branch meets him halfway. It’s heavy with fruit. The witch plucks one and offers it to the man in front of him. “Maybe it could be the god that you worship so much, that has given me this blessing.”

Jeno chuckles nervously, taking the apple. “Will it turn into a block of gold as I consume it? This is not poisoned, is it?”

“I am a witch of nature, not one of alchemy,” Jaemin laughs. It’s as merry as the bell that tinkles on his hat. “Why would I envenom something that is supposed to nourish? Take a bite, and you will see.”

The preacher slowly, reluctantly, brings the fruit to his lips. He winces as he bites into it, but relaxes as he chews. His eyes shyly flicker up to meet Jaemin’s questioning ones. “It is good. Strangely good. Almost too good to be true.”

“That is the beauty of magick, darling,” The witch smiles softly. He gets fruit of his own, savors it with a moan of satisfaction. “She never fails me.”

“I don’t know if this is right,” Jeno mutters, but continues devouring his apple anyway. He eats it until he’s only left with the core. “I do not know if it is right for me to be here.”

“Is your clothing not tight?” Jaemin’s fingers dance along the priest’s cassock. He’s skilled at tucking away conversation topics as if they are books to be placed on shelves; Does Jaemin fear for his life as a witch, an outsider? What does he think about as he watches the stars? Jeno wants to know. “I cannot even begin to imagine how you move around in this.”

Jeno answers the younger’s question with a simple, “I manage. It is not so hard.” He cannot find it in himself to refuse the witch's requests and questions; maybe it was infatuation, or simply the Lord's goodwill being channeled through his veins. 

“Then, will you dance with me?” Jaemin throws his half-eaten apple aside. A waste of a perfectly good fruit, but nature will claim it anyway. Such is the circle of life. The witch’s fingers dance across Jeno’s, across the apple core. “Just for a little while.”

“There is no music. We will look like fools.”

“We are the only ones here,” The wind billows around them, making the bell of Jaemin’s hand chime. The younger takes the fruit’s core and chucks it, too, for the soil to take. “We will make our own music.”

Jeno has no idea what the shorter man means until his hands are enveloped with the warmth of the pinkett’s fingers and he’s being dragged under the moonbeam. The breeze kisses the ravenett's skin and plays with his hair— things Jaemin wishes he could do, if his hands weren’t full. 

“Let me lead,” The witch says, guiding Jeno to place his hands around his waist. The chiffon fabric is smooth under the priest’s fingers. Jaemin then wraps his arms around the ravenett’s shoulders. He doesn’t miss the jolt of the taller as they glide along the grass. “Come on.”

“This is ridiculous,” Jeno mutters, but doesn’t pull away. The whispering wind carries Jaemin’s humming into the air and shakes the little bell on his pointed hat. Maybe, if the taller didn’t think too much about it, Jaemin was making his music. “I should not be doing this.” 

Yet, he lets himself be guided across the meadow. Still, he closes his eyes and listens to the way the witch hums his little song, the bell tinkling all the while. The hands that hold his shoulders pull him ever closer. The preacher doesn’t move away.

“You are rather skilled at this,” Jeno perks up when Jaemin murmurs right into his space. 

“I suppose it is not so difficult.”

“If I recall, were you not worried of being made into a fool?”

Jeno opens his eyes, then, to watch how the witch smirks in amusement. The former shrugs. He’s not really the type to think, nor to care. He’s usually the one to be led— by his god, in his daily life. Or by Jaemin, this peculiar and beautiful witch, in their little dance. 

The older man just keeps quiet, still sways to the bell and the whistling wind and Jaemin’s laughter. He thinks the branches are dancing, too, but it is too dark to really see. 

Jeno trips on his cassock and he falls forward. Jaemin’s instinct is to scramble, then to wrap his hands around the bigger man’s waist. The both of them ignore the kiss the ravenett accidentally gives, amongst the pink hair. It faintly smelled of roses and earthy herbs and pink. It didn’t smell of magick at all; no burning sulfur that made his nose scrunch or sparks that shocked his fingers. That was odd— it always has been.

“That was a little dangerous of you,” Jaemin mumbles. “What would your god think if he saw that?”

“He sees all,” Jeno bites his lip, guilty. He’s unsure whether it’s because he knows his god could see him, or because he wants to surround himself with the smell of sage. “He knows all.”

“We should probably stop,” The witch tries to detangle himself from the older’s embrace, but the ravenett’s panicked eyes make him stop. “Jeno? What is the matter?”

“We do not have to,” Jeno says even as the pinkett’s grip slackens on his shoulders. “I do not mind staying like... like this.” 

Jaemin freezes, but lets his hands glide across the expanse of the preacher’s back. Jeno is still clothed— completely so— but he doesn’t hide the shiver that dances down his spine when the witch. “But what about your god?” 

The witch's magick does not contain sparks, but electricity buzzes between them all the same. The wind has died down, but Jeno’s voice can still be heard as he breathes out, “What about Him?” 

“He sees all, does He not?” Jaemin asks. He doesn’t pull away— rather, he leads them through the grass. He does it so slowly and without breaking eye contact that Jeno is surprised that he’s being pressed against a tree trunk. Jaemin’s eyes are firm. “I think we should stop. For your sake.” 

Jeno knows Jaemin is trying to be considerate and giving him one last chance. He knows that Jaemin knows that he is a devout follower of his god. They both know that Jeno’s god is all-seeing, ever-present— or, at least, He’s supposed to be. The witch would not have Jeno live with the guilt. ~~Even though it has been many nights, almost a routine.~~

And yet, Jeno finds himself meeting the younger’s gaze resolutely. _It’s just one night,_ the devil on his shoulder whispers, _just one_. One night so that, on the very next day, Jeno can kneel before the altar and pray for forgiveness. One night with indulging in his humanity and all its sinful pleasures, then tomorrow he shall be part of his god’s flock once more. Just one night, with the forest as their witness. Certainly, the trees can hold their silence. That should be enough.

“No,” Jeno murmurs, maneuvering themselves so that it’s the pinkett pressed against the firm tree bark. His gaze is steel. “I, for one, do not think we should.”

 _Lord forgive me,_ Jeno thinks to himself, pushes down the guilt that has gathered at his very core as the witch catches his lips in between his teeth and pulls him closer for a fiery kiss. The preacher’s eyelids flutter as Jaemin tastes of apples and arcane knowledge that the ravenett couldn’t even begin to understand. Not yet. _For what I am about to do._

Jeno can’t comprehend his little witch— there is so much more to him than the old books that the shorter carries around when they meet, sometimes, or the little bell that continues to chime even as Jaemin arches against his touch— but... perhaps, maybe he wants to; there is surely nothing wrong with knowing more things. Surely, God will forgive him for following in Eve’s footsteps.

He sucks an incriminating blotch— a pretty, purple thing— on Jaemin’s neck as his fingers drift under the chiffon blouse. The younger man’s fingers move to unbutton Jeno’s cassock. Their lips never part even as they undress one another in hurried but careful movements.

The trees' leaves rustle as a barely-there breeze caresses the branches and make them scratch against each other. The moon watches on, silent. 

Jaemin finds his teacher in a cave, impatiently waiting. Their kitsune companion snatches up a candle from the various items scattered around the huge magic circle etched onto the ground. There’s a small campfire built, and it casts long shadows along the stone walls.

“You are back,” Yuta’s voice rides on an accusatory timbre.

“Yes,” Jaemin says smugly, fixing his hat as swaggering among his company with the tinkling of his bell and the thudding of his boots. Shotaro giggles, doing a little somersault in the air. The young fox drops the unlit candle before moving on to a cow skull with its lone tail. The pinkett turns to the older witch. “Why the sour face?”

The kitsune cocks his head, “You look a mess,” The green witch looks down at his body. Jeno had been considerate— he had not torn the delicate fabric apart. The bruises that are littered throughout his body are partially veiled by the sheer chiffon cloth and the sewn flowers. Jaemin's pants are evidently wrinkled and have been buttoned wrongly. “Have you fooled around with your priest, once more?”

“I cannot help myself,” Jaemin shrugs. He is not bound by the shackles of Jeno’s god. He runs wild, like the wolves in the forests. 

“Seems like your little lover cannot as well.” Yuta barks, picking up a book and flipping through its pages furiously. The yellow dahlia that ornaments his hat glows an orange, against the crackling small fire. Jaemin knows the older is not that angry— not at how he and Jeno play around in the night, at least. Yuta could care less. 

“Apologies, my mentor. It was not my intention to cause you stress,” Jaemin bows, bell tinkling to express its own sorrow. “What spirits do you plan to call on, that we must summon them here and not at home?”

“It is not a summoning,” Yuta says, grabbing another book and trying to scan its contents. Jaemin thinks he’s only seen the blonde necromancer like this a handful of times, worried out of his mind. “It is a cleansing. Help me look for books about it.”

“Have you gotten a commission?” The younger immediately gets to work, sorting through various volumes. Nature, astrology, daemons. Guides, tips, warnings. “Are they paying handsomely?”

“We might not even be able to remove the curse completely. It is unlike anything I’ve ever seen,” Yuta grunts, setting a book aside— this one talks about curses; it could prove helpful. The older witch is not fond of conversations about money. “But we must at least try.”

The kitsune watches them flurry around, curious. Shotaro speaks up, “Pardon me, but the cursed… will they be okay? Will they live?”

“If magick dictates it to be, then it shall be,” Yuta assures them, moving to light candles. He sets one stick to each point of the star, outside of the circle. "Hurry, Jaemin. He is waiting and it would be rude to take too long.”

Jaemin perks up, taking the handful of books that could aid the witches in their commission and setting them apart from the rest. “He is here? I have not heard a thing.”

“Oh, yes, forgive my manners,” Yuta turns to the darkness, to the shadows that even the campfires couldn’t reach. Jaemin sees bright orange eyes and vertically slanted pupils. They survey him with morbid curiosity— the pinkett hopes he’s not being seen as prey. “Please excuse him. He is a little self-conscious.”

The owner of the eyes that could rival fiery embers hisses, more like a serpent than of a man.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you think by leaving kudos, comments, and/or both! <3
> 
> twitter: @starsnatched


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